


Glad You Came

by Winddrag0n



Series: Deadmeat [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Biting, Kinbaku, M/M, Non-Consensual Bondage, Shibari, Will is very much okay with it but it's done while he's asleep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-09 17:41:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20998772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winddrag0n/pseuds/Winddrag0n
Summary: “It is Kinbaku, more commonly known in the west as Shibari. Decorative bondage, to put it simply.” Hannibal looks back up at Will, and the bound man can just barely make out the hint of a frown. “Please, Will, I would appreciate it if you did not squirm quite so much.”“You didn’t exactly ask."-Hannibal inflicts his version of payback.





	Glad You Came

**Author's Note:**

> okay so I MIGHT have already had a ton of ideas for one-offs in this particular universe when I posted the first one
> 
> While this is a continuation of the story Wildfire begins, it functions just fine as a standalone piece as well. All you have to know is that that Will and Hannibal end up running off together near the end of season two, before the events of Mizumono.
> 
> Don't try to look up any specific kinbaku/shibari patterns I used because I entirely made it up. If anyone desperately needs a visual, I will provide a poor-quality MSPaint diagram upon request.

Will wakes slowly, with the familiar throbbing of a hangover nestled deep inside his skull. He tries to open his eyes, greeted with the bright light of day, and they fly shut almost instantly. His limbs are stiff, his back feels tense, and he tries to stretch his arms, work out the kinks, and finds he cannot move them from where they are held behind his back. He sighs, and forces himself to open his eyes and hold them open this time. His torso is turned almost entirely face down on the bed, head resting on the side of the pillow, while his legs are pulled up beneath him. Some shifting reveals he cannot stretch those out either, though he can move them independently of each other and pull them up to his chest. Faintly, he hears the scratching of pencil on paper, and if he tucks his head further down towards his chest he can make out Hannibal’s form, seated on a chair across the room.

“Good morning, Will,” he greets, looking up and briefly locking eyes with the man bound on the bed. He sets aside the book he has been sketching in and makes his way to the bedside table, where a glass of water and several white pills sit. Carefully, he helps Will up into a sitting position, feeding him the tablets and helping him drain the glass.

“Is this your way of trying to regain control?” Will rasps, once he has drunk the water. Before answering, Hannibal lowers the other man back onto the bed, in the same position he woke in, and then resumes his sketching in the chair.

“I am curious as to why you believe that,” Hannibal finally replies, eyes flicking between his subject and his sketchbook. 

“You got me drunk,” Will says, not quite an accusation, but simply a statement of the truth. “Last night.  _ Really _ drunk.” He doesn’t remember much, only Hannibal generously refilling his glass with a smile. “Tied me up in my sleep. What am I supposed to think?” He is almost fully awake now, can feel more clearly the bindings he is trapped in. His arms are almost fully encased, he can feel the rope crossing back and forth all down their lengths, and from his wrists extends a longer piece that loops around his neck. There is enough slack for him to hunch his head forwards, provided he holds his arms away from his body a good six inches or so. More of the same rope is looped around each of his thighs and shins, connected so that they are forced to curl against themselves, but not fully. Finally, from each thigh, the rope extends further upwards and around his waist, ensuring they do not slip and free him.

“It is Kinbaku, more commonly known in the west as Shibari. Decorative bondage, to put it simply.” Hannibal looks back up at Will, and the bound man can just barely make out the hint of a frown. “Please, Will, I would appreciate it if you did not squirm quite so much.”

“You didn’t exactly ask,” Will argues, but settles into a somewhat comfortable position and remains still. “You’re trying to regain control because I’ve wrested it from you. I ask you to leave, and a day later we’re on a plane out of the country. I’ve driven you to a rash decision. Are you going to fuck me like this, after you finish your drawing?”

“I am not the only one who has left a life behind,” Hannibal points out, but they both know it’s not comparable. Will had little in the way of possessions or ties to his home, barely anything more than the dogs, while Hannibal had established a flourishing career and deep roots in his community. He does not address the final question.

On the bed, Will sighs. “We didn’t have to leave immediately. Even if Jack knew, it’s not like they had any evidence; you may have forgotten that was what  _ my  _ job was supposed to be. The FBI wasn’t about to descend on your home with a SWAT team.”

There is a length of silence, not even the scratch of pencil on paper filling it. “I thought it prudent to leave quickly,” Hannibal eventually says.

“Before I could change my mind,” Will continues, since Hannibal would never say it out loud. “That’s why we’re in this villa, waiting for your goons to set us up a place to live, and give us new identities.”

“We do not require new identities,” Hannibal replies. It’s a deflection, a way to avoid talking about how he doesn’t have the upper hand for once, but it works purely because of how it shocks Will.

“What?” he says, squirming to a better position, so he can properly see Hannibal. He sees the other man’s eyelid twitch minutely before he finally closes the book and sets it aside, presumably giving up on trying to get Will to remain still. “Of course we do. We’re wanted, aren’t we?”

“It is as you said,” Hannibal clarifies, making no movements to vacate his chair. “There is no case against me, and certainly nothing against you.”

“What about your basement?” Will asks. “They’re going to get in eventually, probably already have, and then they’ll have more than enough.”

“They will find nothing,” Hannibal answers primly. “I have many contingencies in place, and all evidence has been taken care of. Jack will know the truth, of course, but in the eyes of the law, we have done nothing more than-”

“Don’t say ‘elope’,” Will groans, closing his eyes. “You had less than a day. How on earth did you pull that off?”

“I would not have been as successful as I have been if I was not always prepared for the worst.” Will hears rustling, now, footsteps, and he opens his eyes as the bed dips beside him and a hand threads through his curls. “Jack knows that you killed Tier in self-defense, so if that comes forward, it will not become a problem.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Will mutters, eyes fluttering closed in pleasure as Hannibal runs his hand through his hair. “Why are we here, then?”

“To give me time to choose a destination,” Hannibal murmurs, and Will laughs.

“Are you still going to argue that you hold control?” The hand slides down, a finger tracing the sharp angles of Will’s jaw. “You left so fast you didn’t even know where you were going yet.”

“I think I will,” comes the answer.

His hand grips Will’s chin, pulls his head back, tilts his face so their eyes can meet. “Know where to go?”

“Fuck you,” Hannibal corrects, and then he’s hauling Will upright and onto his knees in front of him. He encourages Will to tip his head back, expose the line of this throat, but instead he fiddles with something near his tied wrists, uncoiling an extra length of rope. He connects the bindings there to the loops around Will’s waist, tightening it until his arms are flush against his back and he has to crane his neck back to keep from being strangled.

“Oh, you bastard,” Will laughs, breathless. “That’s gonna hurt later.”

“It is not meant to be comfortable,” Hannibal chides, adjusting the ropes until it all sits the way he desires it to. “In fact, it is quite common to hang the subject from the ceiling and tie them into elaborate poses. Perhaps we can experiment later.”

With his new position, Will’s eyes are locked onto the ceiling. “I don’t think the owner of this place would appreciate you drilling hooks into the ceiling,” he muses.

“Not here,” Hannibal sighs, lips going to the space where the rope bites into Will’s neck. “Once we have…” He trails off here, uncharacteristically silent, and Will can tell he is wrestling with the appropriate words to use.

Will no longer has that issue, and chooses for him. “A home.” He hears Hannibal suck in a quick breath behind him, and then teeth meet his ear, biting down gently. 

“A home,” he agrees, voice quiet. 

He still isn’t used to it, these odd flashes of humanity he sees from the monster he has chosen to be with. Distantly, he remembers a time Hannibal had told him he could not be predicted, and is pleased to find that it extends to every aspect of their relationship. “Don’t hang me upside-down,” he says playfully. “I’ve already had enough brain issues without the blood pooling up there when it shouldn’t.” 

Broad hands span across his chest, doing nothing more than pressing into the flesh they find. “I am sorry,” Hannibal tries, “about your sickness, and how I handled it.”

“No you’re not,” Will snorts, and nearly rolls his eyes. “You don’t have to apologize. It got us here, after all.”

The hands leave his chest and press down on his shoulders, pushing him into the mattress far enough that Hannibal can lean over the top of his head, allowing him to lean down and kiss Will. It’s awkward, feels like kissing someone whose face is on backwards, and it isn’t long before they both give up. “I don’t deserve you,” Hannibal whispers, pressing a kiss to Will’s temple.

“No,” Will agrees, “but you have me.”

Hannibal moves now, with intent, and Will raises his head the small amount he can. He can hear Hannibal removing his own clothes, tossing them onto the floor, pulling something out of a drawer in the bedside table and setting it on the mattress, to the side. Will finds himself pressed forwards, down onto the bed, Hannibal taking care to turn his head and curve his back in a way that will not choke him. He is on his knees, but he cannot support himself fully, and is soon trembling lightly with the effort. “I don’t think this is going to work,” he says, muffled by the mattress.

“I suppose not,” Hannibal grudgingly agrees, and he pulls Will back up into a kneeling position. He does it by pulling on the ropes connecting Will’s wrists to his neck, putting immense pressure on his throat and briefly choking him. “Another time.”

It hurts, but only for a moment, and it quickens his pulse. “Got any other bright ideas?” Will coughs. He has a few of his own, but this is clearly Hannibal’s turn to steer the situation, and Will has always been good at playing along.

“Can you remain relaxed?” The response is not immediate, but comes quickly enough. Before waiting for an answer, Will hears the soft squelching of lube being squeezed out of the tube and slicked onto something below.

“No foreplay, Doctor?” Will laughs, voice cracking. The low buzz of arousal is there, has been since he woke, but he’s not quite there yet. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. “Go ahead.”

Hannibal, it seems, has been enjoying this a great deal, and is fully hard already when he pushes inside of Will. He does not thrust, only bottoms out, sitting motionless deep inside. “Good,” he sighs, and Will cannot tell if he is speaking to him or about him.

The feeling is odd, not painful, but like there is a foreign object where it does not belong. “This feels-”

“Hush, Will,” Hannibal admonishes with a kiss to his cheek. “You do not have to do anything.” Will tries to lift himself off and then back down, tries to goad Hannibal into movement, but the man behind him tugs on the rope connecting his wrists to his neck in warning, so Will falls still once more. “Eager.” Hannibal punctuates the words with a bite to Will’s shoulder, overlapping with the marks he had left nights previous. “Be calm.”

“I don’t think that’s the point of sex,” Will growls, pleasure spreading through him at the feeling of those sharp, crooked teeth in his flesh. “If this is going somewhere else, it better get there quickly.”

“You are too impatient,” Hannibal tells him. His hands dig into the tense muscles of Will’s upper back, smoothing out the hardness and working out the knots. “Relax. I have you.”

Will is doubtful, but he relents, allowing Hannibal to dig into areas that have gone hard with stress for many years. The doctor can only do so much with the way Will’s neck is forced back and held in place, but he slips deft fingers underneath his bound arms to tease away the tension in his back. He has never been touched like this, this soft sort of intimacy, and he gives in easily, allowing Hannibal to mold him into a more pliable state. His talented hands move lower, smooth over and down his legs, before coming back up and kneading at the flesh of his ass. It’s pleasurable, in a hazy sort of way, Will feeling himself get lost in the sensations, cock half-hard against his thigh.

“Perfect,” Hannibal smiles, once Will is so relaxed and calm that he feels comfortable even wrapped in the rope that binds him. His hands on the other man’s ass suddenly turn harsh and he lifts Will almost entirely off his lap before slamming him back down.

The abrupt change in sensations makes Will gasp, his body trying to tense but too liquid to do so. Hannibal slides his hands in between his thighs, pulling his legs apart and spreading them almost painfully far, hooking his hands under the other man’s shins until he has a solid grip. He lifts Will up and pushes him back down, fucking up into the body he holds, lifting him as if he weighs nothing. “H-Hannibal, fuck-” Will chokes, unable to get to words to come out properly. He knew Hannibal was strong, had felt it firsthand, but such an obvious display of overwhelming strength sends a rush of blood straight to his cock.

Hannibal is strong, stronger physically, but Will knows, for now, that the true power lies with him, and he finds himself smiling. “Harder,” he commands, and Hannibal obliges with a grunt.

“Greedy boy,” he is able to grind out, body tense with the effort of handling a man not much smaller than himself. Where Hannibal is solid, an unmoving sort of strength, Will is lean and wiry, and he knows that if he was untied he could easily slip out of this, meet Hannibal’s thrusts with the roll of his hips. He doesn’t ask Hannibal to untie him, knows he will be refused, because isn’t that the point? Will always wants to interfere, hold his own power over the situation, has never been comfortable leaving things to others. Still, it doesn’t hurt to let go every once in a while, and so he leans back, drapes his body back over Hannibal’s torso, lets his head fall back against his shoulder.

He allows Hannibal to move him as he pleases, arching his back to create more slack on the rope, mouth hanging open as Hannibal uses him. Though he cannot see, he knows Hannibal’s eyes will be locked on his throat, where the red rope cuts in cruelly against the beautiful arch of his neck. He always seemed to have a thing about throats, eyes always dropping down to steal a glance during conversation, when they weren’t roaming to his lips instead. 

Will wonders if Hannibal had ever ripped somebody’s throat out. He wants to ask, wants to ask if he’s ever thought about ripping out  _ his  _ throat. Everything is pulsing, throbbing, the ropes cutting into his skin as his arms strain against them, all he can feel along with the relentless thrusting of Hannibal’s cock inside of him. It feels electric, the way it drags across his swollen prostate, enough to stimulate but not overwhelm. He feels whole, like this, finally complete. “Hannibal-”

Hannibal comes first, thrusts becoming erratic before he finally empties himself inside of Will, who remains achingly hard. “Please,” Will begs, unable to do anything himself. “My throat-” A harsh hand fists in his curls, pulling his head even further to the side, and teeth sink in, above the rope, harder and harder until Will finally comes.

They remain like that for a long moment, Will panting, resting all of his weight across Hannibal’s broad chest, the man in question’s head tucked into his neck. As the feeling dies down, the high receding, Hannibal gently pushes Will forward, off of him in a kneeling position, and then begins to undo the ropes. He is halfway done with the arms, rubbing feeling back into the limbs as he goes, when Will finally finds his voice and speaks.

“I’m glad you came,” is what he says, and Hannibal pauses at his back.

“If it was truly so uncomfortable, I would have adjusted the ropes if you had asked.”

Will considers pointing out that he said ‘adjusted’ and not ‘removed’, but it doesn’t seem important. “No, not- I guess I worded that wrong, I didn’t take you anywhere. I’m glad you took me with you.” His arms are free, and he pulls them forwards, taking in the patterns the rope burned into his skin.

“What else would I have done?” Hannibal says, kisses the answer into the abrasions at his neck. It takes him mere moments to undo the simple bindings at his legs.

“Don’t play coy,” Will sighs, and he turns to finally face Hannibal. “You said you knew I was working with Jack, I’m sure you had quite a few ideas about how to dispatch of me. I’m- why do you still trust me?” He looks away.

Hannibal cocks his head, looks like the question confused him. “Because you are still here,” he says, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Will laughs, because it really is that simple, isn’t it? “Where else would I go?” he says, voice soft, and Hannibal presses a chaste kiss to his lips.

“The bathroom, if I recall from the previous time.” Hannibal cracks a smile, and Will realizes he’s actually being  _ teased. _

“Smartass,” he mutters, fond. “Go make a five-course breakfast or something. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

He showers, lets the warmth soak into his bones, and when he steps out and wipes off the mirror he sees the deep imprints of teeth left on his throat. Hannibal did not break the skin, but it will leave a large, bruised imprint, one to match the angry purple collar at the front of his throat from when Hannibal lifted him. It will linger for a long time, impossible to hide.

It’s possessive, but he asked for it, and he can think of far worse things than being marked in this manner. He dries off, dresses, and goes downstairs to join Hannibal for breakfast.

Hannibal has made him tea with honey, to soothe his throat. Will drinks it, and cannot help but smile.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> [The Wanted - Glad You Came](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2ggzxInyzVE)


End file.
